The Man that puts his hair in papers was wounded severely on one of his corns, and the Brigadier-General slid hastily down from the tree, and retired to the rear of an adjacent barn. A consultation of officers was immediately called, and it was determined to form our brigade into a square, and receive the charge of the enemy, who speedily appeared before the breastworks with a pair of tongs in his hands. Reaching forward with the horrid weapon, he pulled the nose of our returned Brigadier-General with it. A consultation of officers was immediately called, and it was determined that death was preferable to defeat. Accordingly, the brigade was ordered to advance cautiously upon the enemy, while the orderly sergeant was sent to harass his rear, and turn his flank, if possible. Our brigadier-general attempted to lead the charge, but made a mistake about the direction again, and had galloped half a mile toward where we came from before he could be convinced of his mistake. Seeing us descending upon him, at last, like an avalanche, the enemy deployed to the right, and poured in a volley of "cusses," throwing our right column into confusion, and wounding the delicacy of our chaplain. A consultation of officers was immediately called, and it was determined to make one more dash. We were formed into the shape of a bunch of radishes, the brigadier-general retired a distance of two miles to encourage us, and we poured down upon the foe with irresistible force. His ranks were broken by the impetuosity of our charge, and he scattered and fled in dismay. The engagement then became general, and in a little while we were on our victorious way to Washington again, with 150 rebel prisoners. Our captives were chickens, in excellent condition for dressing, and their appearance so delighted our brigadier-general--whom we found sharpening his sword on the bottom of his boot, some miles away--that a consultation of officers was immediately called, and it was determined to cook and eat them immediately, lest the President should administer the oath of allegiance to them, and discharge them in the morning. Yours, victoriously, ORPHEUS C. KERR. LETTER VIII. THE REJECTED "NATIONAL HYMNS." WASHINGTON, D.C., June 30th, 1861. Immediately after mailing my last to you, I secured a short furlough, and proceeded to New York, to examine into the affairs of that venerable Committee which had offered a prize of $500 for the best National Hymn. Upon going into literary circles, my boy, no less than fifty acknowledged poets confidentially informed me, that the idea of bribing the muse to be solemnly patriotic was altogether too vulgar to be tolerated for a moment by writers of reputation; and a whole swarm of poets, never acknowledged by anybody, were human enough to say that $500 was not a small sum in these times; but they hadn't "come to that yet, you know."